


long time gone

by Areiton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, This is not super healthy tbh, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Used to be, he woke to a world, cold and lonely and so angry he couldn’tbreath.But that--that’s a long time gone, now.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 114





	long time gone

Used to be, he’d wake, and he’d be cold. 

JARVIS kept his rooms warm, warm enough that even without blankets, he should never be cold. 

But he woke cold, always. Curled small and shaking. 

Sam said it was dreams of the ice. A psychosomatic symptom and Steve figured he was right. Made more sense than anything else. 

Used to be, he’d wake up shivering, curled tight against the cold, and he’d run until his skin steamed and his lungs bellowed and sweat poured off him and the cold was a long gone memory. 

He’d return to a hot shower and hot coffee and, if he was very lucky and they weren’t fighting over something small and forgettable, Tony’s hot, appreciative gaze. 

But that--that’s a long time gone, now. 

~*~ 

Used to be, he’d wake alone. 

JARVIS played music, and when the music didn’t do it quite right, he’d play talk shows, soothing NPR nonsense about planting flowers and wolves in Yellowstone and book reviews. 

But he woke alone, always. Arms empty and aching. 

Natasha said he needed to have fun. Shake off the longing with something meaningless. Steve never quite got that--he wasn’t built for meaningless, wasn’t built to fall in bed with someone and roll right back out of it again. 

Used to be, he’d wake up alone, wrapped around a pillow and aching for the steady warmth of his brother filling up the room, and he’d go out, sit in museums and cafes, in crowded theaters and busy gyms, anywhere where _people_ were, because even if he didn’t want them close, they soothed the loneliness, made it bearable. 

And when strangers weren’t enough, he’d come back to the Tower, and slip into Tony’s workshop under the screaming music, curl on his couch with his sketch pad and let the busy chaos of Tony creating and his bots getting in trouble and JARVIS snarking, fill up the empty space around him and push the lonely away. 

But that--that’s a long time gone, now. 

~*~ 

Used to be, he’s lay in bed, and fury would wash over him in pulsing waves. 

JARVIS spoke, told him about this new century he found himself trapped in, and he’s listen, by turns shocked and sickened and exhausted. 

But always, _always_ furious. 

Bruce said anger was natural, was normal for someone like him, displaced and uncertain, and told him to find something that made him happy and slipped away, anxious and uncomfortable the way he always was, when faced with emotions and not empirical evidence. 

Used to be he’d wake up _furious_ , spoiling for a fight, clatter into the kitchen and meet Tony’s gaze, all dark and sharp and _knowing._ He’s snap and snarl and Tony, Tony-- _Tony_ would meet him biting insult for snarling curse, until they were shouting and furious and all the rage roiling under his skin was leeching out, leaving him raw and aching, he’d turn and stalk away. 

And when he was tired, and drained, and empty, he’d slip into the kitchen and make the muffins Tony liked best, blueberry, and Tony would find him, always, lean against the counter watching with eyes deep and dark and worried, until Steve offered up coffee and muffins, and he smiled, and took the peace offering for what it was. 

But that--that’s a long time gone, now. 

~*~ 

Now.

Now he wakes and he’s warm. A familiar heat presses against his back, cool metal a circle against his spine, strong arms wrapped around his waist, a puff of hot hair against his neck, and warm lips, dry, against his skin. He stretches, a luxurious roll of his body just to hear the huff of irritation from Tony, the tightening of his arm before he curls tighter and Steve twists to press a warm kiss to sleep slack lips. 

Now, he steps into a kitchen crowded and loud. Morgan is sitting cross-legged on the counter, her hair swinging down and obscuring her pretty face. Peter is bustling around Bucky, busy flipping pancakes, with Alpine perched on his shoulder, and it’s almost too much, still, seeing his family here, close, brilliant and alive and giving him looks curious and bright and exasperated all at once. “Coffee for Tony,” Peter says, because there are mornings, when he can’t handle being too close to all of them, when the press of people after so many years of being alone is stifling and terrifying because he still-- _still, even now, even after everything--_ dreams about losing them, and wakes to calloused hands and a sleep rough voice babbling and the blue glow of the arc reactor, reassuring and warm and chasing away everything but peace. 

He takes the coffee gratefully and slips back into bedroom. 

Now, he slips into bed, into Tony’s arms, peaceful and reassuring, and _home._

“They awake?” Tony mumbles and Steve nods, lips pressed against his hair.

“Do we need--” 

“Not yet,” Steve murmurs, a quiet laziness to him and the warm peace in their bed that he can’t find anywhere else. Tony doesn’t argue, just nestles closer, and kisses the nearest bit of skin he can, and Steve tips his head up, kisses him slow and deep, a lazy decadent thing that makes his toes curl and makes Tony whimper low in his throat, and leaves him half hard and full to bursting with happiness. 

Used to be, he woke to a world, cold and lonely and so angry he couldn’t _breath._

And then there was Tony. Tony who smiled bright and warm, Tony who let Steve into his home and made it his own, Tony who never shied away from his fury, who tempered it until it wore away and filled him up with joy and love and _peace._

He curls in a warm bed with his husband and closes his eyes, sleepy and warm and happy. Used to be, he was lost and lonely and unloved. 

But that--that’s a long time gone, now. 


End file.
